The Scent of You
by EthereaReturns
Summary: Hermione sits and waits for a present that never arrives. AU. HG/SS. One-Shot.


**Author:** Etherea

 **Rating:** T - PG-13. Slight foul language - nothing out of the ordinary.

 **Disclaimer:** Certainly AU.

 **Summary:** Hermione sits and waits for a present that never arrives. AU. HG/SS. One-Shot.

 **Author's Note:** Hello, everyone. I'm back after what could be deemed the longest hiatus of my history as a writer. For those of you who knew the stories _Ethereal Desire_ and _Things That Matter_ , I'm very sorry for having kept you hanging - if anything, I'm the queen of cliffhangers. _Ethereal Desire_ was, and still is, a very complex story, one that has taken me, literally, a whole rewrite of the Harry Potter Universe, to the point were it simply _couldn't_ be canon anymore. I always told myself I was going to write a masterpiece, I just didn't know it would entail the retelling of someone else's story. So, this is just a short tale, a glimpse on what Ethereal Desire should have been from the very beginning. Hope you guys enjoy it.

 **A/N2:** After a misshap with some formatting and some obvious errors on the site's owners - sorry, guys, you will need to apologize to this writer - I've decided to repost this short story. The essence of the fic is the same, it just had to be rewritten with a different perspective in mind. I think it turned out pretty good. Let's see how it goes. _This_ time.

Just for you, dear reader:

 _Every Night & every Morn_  
 _Some to Misery are Born_  
 _Every Morn and every Night_  
 _Some are Born to Friday's Light_  
 _Every Night & every Morn_  
 _Some to Mistery are called_  
 _Some are Born to Endless Joy_  
 _Some are Born to miser's ploy_  
 _And unto You, my Lord, I say_  
 _Rejoice!_  
 _For some are Born._  
 _Some are Born._

On with it:

 **The Scent of You**

"Nothing is ever quite as it seems..." Hermione muttered to herself as she finished decorating the small fir passing for a Christmas tree she had managed to levitate to her bedroom's corner. It was nothing fancy, really - just an old branch she had found while working in the garden - but it was... _something_ , and sometimes it was all one needed to awaken the spirit. _There.._. Some small touches of glitter here and there and a couple of shiny beads and the little thing actually glowed if she looked at it from the right angle: an _actual_ Christmas tree.

"Perfect."

Outside, the wind howled in cold tendrils that sent even the smallest creatures scudding back into their burrows. It was a singular winter, this one. No snow to speak of, no carols anywhere, only a constant _heaviness_ hanging in the air, grey and unyielding, fogging up the windows and dimming every single light in the vicinity. Another whispered spell and the last bits of Christmas cheer she could muster coalesced into a shiny little star. She smiled at her accomplishment, wholly proud of herself: _There is always,_ always _some hope left laying around somewhere_ , she thought as she gently willed the tiny orb towards the tip of the fir, watching it intently as it slowly began to spin atop its new home.

 _You can almost hear the bells jingle_ , she mused, watching the star as it dusted her creation with renewed life.

" **Do you know how long are we staying here? I'm in** _ **serious**_ **need of a bath** ," her cat groaned as he, almost self-consciously, scratched the back of his ears. Like a common _dog. This was simply ridiculous_ , he thought. _Here we are, in the middle of nowhere, awaiting a package that_ never _arrives. Tomorrow, tomorrow,_ always _tomorrow..._ Only his pet would come up with such a _splendid_ idea.

 _Not._

"Relax, Crooks. Albus said we must wait until the sun comes back, so we wait! Not that it makes any sense whatsoever, but..."

" **It's all we can do** _ **for the moment**_ **,** " Crookshanks huffed, getting an apologetical look from her. " **Seriously, Hermione. You have dusted that squabby thing a million times already. Nobody ever shows up**. **You even dressed me in Elven clothes. Elven** _ **clothes**_ **, Hermione! Not to mention that time** _ **I**_ **had to carry the old coot's bag. You do** _ **not**_ **bring such shame upon** _ **this**_ **cat!"**

Hermione laughed heartily, and Crookshanks could only give her one of his trademarked annoyed pouts. He would have hissed, but he had to admit, he _adored_ his pet. Nobody could think quite like her, which is why she was _his_. If it weren't for _him_ , of course, she would probably be dead by now. Drowned in the sink, maybe. Or gotten locked up in some trap under the mistletoe. Or broken her neck coming down the stairs at some stupid ball. _Silly girl. Always marching headfirst into battle..._

"Well, at least _we_ have some light working tonight, don't we? It actually makes the place a little cozy, don't you think?"

 _Nevermind_ , she amended when Crooks huffed again and turned his back on her, resuming his grooming. It _was_ a shame, really; she could almost see the bald spots here and there all over his silvering back. She missed the old Crookshanks, the Infallible Cat. Now he appeared to be just a reflection of his old self. It was the light, of course. There was simply not enough of it anymore. Not enough warmth, either. _Not enough... Gods_ , please, _let it happen today_. She almost cried, but she steeled herself at the right time, as always. _Tomorrow is tomorrow, so here we shall remain_ , she repeated as she stared, eyes glazing over, out her window.

 _Were all the deities gone_ , she wondered for what seemed like the millionth time.

She had done her part, of course, thoroughly and expediently, as it was her way. She had counted all the steps, each and every single one of them. She had marked the exits and entrances, the stops and the shall-nots, the no-returns, the coming-backs, the outsides, the insides, the coming-and-returnings, the backing-and-forwardings, the beyonds, the revolving-doors, the spotted-here-and-theres, the narrows, the farlows, the to-be-continueds, the put-on-holds, the small-collectables, the no-it's-nothings, the step-betweens, the little-whiles, the tall-falls, the short-downs... she still could not find a way out of _here_. She could not move beyond _today_. Every. Single. Day. It was driving her bonkers!

Perhaps that was Dumbledore's idea in the first place?

 _Perhaps_ today _doesn't really mean anything._

Did she even _know_ how long she had been _there_? She had lost the chain ages ago. Moving backwards had become second nature to her, all she had to do was... go the same way. She had collected as much of it as she could. She had placed it all in the right place. Then _what was missing_? What was she not _seeing_? Had she somehow forgotten a kettle or a pot somewhere? A root misplaced? A handle? They knew copper could be tricky...

" **Do not even bring that particular recollection to the forefront,** _ **please**_ **,** " Crooks deadpanned, and she could almost see the smoke bristle his matted tail. _Almost_. She was grateful for it.

"I'm sorry. I'm really, really, _really_ sorry. I didn't know those urns would be so... volatile..."

" **The urns weren't the trouble, dear. The trouble were the airs within them. As** _ **always**_ **.** "

"Well, what _else_ did you want me to do? He said all of it, it is _all_ of it. How would I know the urns were so... _charming_?"

There it was, that _eyeroll_ he loved to see.

" **My, you didn't think the reeking green was enough? I can still feel my stomach** _ **tumble**_ **.** " It was _true_ ; she would _not_ have seen them... Then again, how could he be Hermione Granger's _sauveur du jour_ if he didn't pay attention to such... _formalities_?

 _Gods, he was getting too old for this. Way too old. And never mind she was getting_ too _young. He had to find a way out of this loop, there was no mistaking it._

It was simply impossible, to be looking at her like this, right here before his eyes... He still could not quite explain it. It was _her_ , right _here_ , right _now_...

He almost recoiled at his own thoughts, remembering all the times he had come to this place just looking for her. After all the things that had happened, all the things he had done, had _seen_... How could he tell her? How could he... _explain_ to her everything that had happened? He wouldn't know how to begin! He didn't want to destroy... _this_ , whatever this was... _miracle?_ he was witnessing. Even worse, how could he _tell her_ without compromising the Mysteries?

 _For fucks' sake_. There it was again... The _summons_ , the dark pull wheighing over him, tying him to the spot. Could he _come back_ and just... _whisk her away_? Would she be willing? Would she fall again, just this once, just for _him_?

"Crooks..? I think your tail is starting to smoke again. Are you sure we are alright?" she suddenly exclaimed, her eyes darting towards him. For Salazar's beard, her voice... It was _her_ _voice_... Would she notice him? Would she _remember_?

And just like that, he was right there again. In his old bathroom. His old House. She was lying in the pool, her head resting on the edge as she slept, iredescent locks cascading around her naked form. The ancient rock had seemed to _sing_ around her, her Magic permeating everything, trasmuting the icy-cold dungeons into a blooming forest. Just... _astounding_.

 _Hermione_...

And just like that, before she knew it, before she could even smell it, he was right _there_. Like in her dreams. _Hidden in the shadows, as always_ , Hermione thought as she stared at the dark reflection on the cold windowpane. She knew it would only be a matter of time until he showed up... After all, it was always _him_ , always about _him_ , always because of _him_. She stayed because he was always returning... Or was he always there? Always. Not quite there yet, always so far away. Sometimes she weeped, sometimes she screamed, sometimes she cursed, sometimes she laughed out loud, but it always, always made her smile, once she got to _him_. Was he even listening to her thoughts? Would he _dare_?

 _With him everything is possible..._

It always marvelled her, the thought of him believing that she was, well, extraordinairily _naïve_. That after all these years, all these relentless, forgotten years, she wouldn't recognize him the moment he showed up. Like she didn't know who she was. Like she didn't know who he'd _been_. Like she didn't... _know_.

 _Let's see how far this night goes, shall we?_ she thought, sending a little pray to Fridja for a good harvest. Softly, almost demurely, she released the bun of her hair, the short golden locks falling in disarray around her face, and looked at the spot were her old cat had once been. She wasn't the kid _he_ once knew anymore.

 _It's been too long. Far too long. For how long shall we keep pretending?_

"I think I'm the one who is having that bath..." She tripped a little step, just a tiny one, and for a moment she could almost swear she could hear him glowering: her lover, her husband, her _Potions Master_ , right there by her window, like a bad ghost, staring at her through her familiar's sparking eyes. Right there and then, Crookshanks' eyes shone gold for just a second, and she smiled for the first time in what seemed like a long time.

" **Oh, do** _ **not**_ **look at me** _ **that way**_ **. I'm just delivering the message!** "

"I know, Crooks, I know." And just like that, he was gone. Hermione returned her eyes to the cold window, the dark branches blowing slowly in the now-falling rain. In just a little while there would be snow.

 _Tonight could be_ the night _._

 _Every night_ , she thought. _Every night._

 **The End.**


End file.
